


Under the Skin

by gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M, Road Trips, post episode, post-Penance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-08
Updated: 2003-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 01:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyneth/pseuds/gwyneth%20rhys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For Killa, with deepest gratitude.</p></blockquote>





	Under the Skin

Ezra Standish was putting the finishing touches on his tack, giving a last tug on the latigos, when he looked up to see Buck Wilmington coming through the stable doors. He nodded but continued what he was doing, not especially eager for conversation with Buck or for the braying ridicule that often accompanied it. Buck walked up beside him in that familiar loping gait, grinning.

"Going somewhere?" Buck asked, not quite as loud as usual. Ezra had noticed that recently. Buck seemed to have lost some of his zest, almost as much as Ezra himself had. It couldn't have been for the same reason, but it made Ezra curious -- although not curious enough to pursue it.

"Taking a bit of a sabbatical, really. In the direction of Tombstone."

"Change of scenery, eh? Yeah, I can see that."

"A bit more nightlife and some different faces across the gaming tables seems the appropriate tonic for me right now. I've heard a great deal about what a lively, growing metropolis it is."

He was about to mount up when Buck cocked his head sideways. Tiny the hostler was moving around them, distracting Ezra, but Buck's penetrating gaze kept him rooted to the spot.

"Think you could stand some company?" Buck asked. "I could do with a change of place myself."

His first inclination was to balk at the suggestion. He'd never felt particularly close to Buck, and at times that boisterous, larger-than-life jocularity of his wore on Ezra. But the idea of such a long ride punctuated by a little conversation and cheer was appealing, more appealing than lengthy solitude.

"I can't imagine Mr. Larabee being sanguine at the prospect of two of us on an adventure at the same time."

"Oh, Chris can cope with it. He knows me, knows I'll be back when I'm ready. Why, I'll just have Tiny tell him we're gone, and by the time we get back, he'll be plenty calmed down and there won't be no consequences. We'll miss the whole blowup. Ain't that right, Tiny?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Willoughby. Want me to get your horse?"

Ezra smirked and arched an eyebrow.

"That'd be right nice of you," Buck said to Tiny, then leaned towards Ezra and added, soto voce, "You just give up after a while, is all I got to say." They laughed at the same time, an action Ezra realized had been sorely lacking in his life these past weeks. Tiny got Buck's horse -- at least, Ezra pointed out, he got the horse right, even if he couldn't get the name right -- and in a short while Buck was ready. They took off at a nice trot, hoping to reach Union by nightfall.

It was a peaceful morning. No wind, nothing but quiet and blue sky. Once they'd been on the trail for some time, Ezra took to watching Buck as they rode along. He seemed lost in thought, not a state Ezra usually associated with Buck. Subdued and contemplative was how it appeared, but he just couldn't imagine what would bring on such a mood. The only time he'd seen Buck like that was after JD had been shot by those reprehensible girls, and even then, underneath it all had been an anger fueling his mood, one that Buck didn't have right now. No matter what kind of difficulty he came up against, subdued was not his reaction. Angry, resentful, forceful, but never quiet.

They eventually stopped to eat by a creek, the sun that beat down on the rocks warming them and glinting harshly off the water. The cuisine in town wasn't exactly remarkable, but eating on the trail was an even bigger disappointment to Ezra and something he forgot he hated each time.

"You've appeared somewhat dejected the past few days, Mr. Willoughby. Is that why you've decided you need a change of scenery as well?"

Buck glared at him, which only made Ezra chuckle.

"Oh, just seems like life in town is getting a bit... rambunctious, I suppose."

"Understood." Wistful, that was the word he'd been searching for. Buck seemed wistful. "You've run out of potential paramours, or perhaps some of the men in town are feeling oppressed by the copious affections bestowed on you these days?"

Buck laughed loudly. "Now, that's the kind of problem I wouldn't mind having."

They ate silently before Buck finally asked him, "What made you want to hare off yourself, not even telling anyone? If I hadn't seen you in there, would you just have gone off without a word?"

"No, certainly not. I informed Mr. Larabee of my plans the night before. He appeared to be quite agreeable -- I daresay he wouldn't miss me if I were to disappear for a while. Maybe even forever." It wasn't self-pity that tinged his voice, but more a practical kind of sadness, knowing he never really had fit into the group or belonged with that well-intentioned bunch.

"Oh, no -- now, you got that wrong. You think that just because Chris is--"

"Irascible? Contentious?"

Shaking his head, Buck said, "A little rough around the edges and you get him riled up, and you're thinking that means he don't have any respect for you. But you'd be wrong, Ezra. You'd be very wrong."

"Nevertheless, I'm rarely the one in this vigilance committee who's consulted first or seen as indispensable."

"You're more valued than you know."

Ezra glanced over at Buck, a little nonplussed by such a statement. But that was Buck's way, to make sweeping, emotional declarations as a way of buoying someone's feelings. A part of Ezra admired that about him, that Buck was fearless about being so openly emotional. And he rarely suffered for it, either, which was another thing that amazed Ezra. No one took advantage of it or tormented him for it.

"I appreciate the thought, fabrication though it may be."

Buck frowned. "So, what made you just head off like this? You didn't answer."

"Just needed that change of scenery, as I said. I'm not certain anymore just how I feel about this job, I suppose. Perhaps it's not a good fit."

"Feeling a bit strained?"

"Not really." He looked up, squinting into the view -- it was perfectly blue, no clouds obscuring the perfect sight of the perfect blue sky on the perfect day. On the outside everything here was always the same; only the inside was changing, and not for the good. "For some time now I've wondered if this is the life for me. For any of us. What happened to Miss Irene... I'm not sure this is what I want to do, if it means pretending such things aren't as unconscionable as they are."

"I can see what you mean. You dealt with all that, and I didn't. But it ain't the first time you've seen a dead person -- hell, you've made some of them dead yourself."

"I have seen plenty of dead bodies. But I've never seen such a hateful, exacting crime. We've dealt with cutthroats and murderers, landgrabbers and hired guns. But can you ever remember such a carefully executed, deliberate crime, against someone so helpless? It's irrelevant that Poplar was mad. The calculated viciousness... I can't stop thinking of it."

He felt idiotic for going on so, ashamed to be seen as weak around the one person most likely to turn it against him later as a subject for sport. He refilled his canteen in the stream and did everything but look at Buck.

Buck cleaned up and got back on his horse, then turned to Ezra. "Seems like for some time you've been down at the mouth. I never thought to ask if you were all right. I'm sorry about that, Ezra."

He nodded, moved by the fact that Buck even thought of him at all. Ezra had grown so used to being alone, to always looking out for himself or for ways to take advantage of others, that he often found himself a bit too touched by someone else's small gestures of friendship.

They reached Union for the night and found the cheapest accommodations they could, then parted ways. Ezra felt the prospects for decent gambling were spotty at best -- the one gaming table in the ramshackle saloon looked especially pathetic -- and there was equally little opportunity for a simple con, were one inclined. After some poking around he found a cockfight, but didn't stay long. Everything looked harsh and ugly to Ezra; what before was simply an act of making money off the primal urges and pathetic thirst for violence that existed in most people now felt ugly and cheap, and he couldn't tolerate watching the grotesque faces of men cheering stupid, helpless animals on to their bloody, revolting ends. Before he'd only watched the money; now he looked around and saw through each man, saw into their souls and glimpsed the undeniable truth of what people really were in their dark hearts. He was no less wicked, Ezra knew that, but at least he knew where he stood -- at least he knew enough to try to change it.

Buck would be off chasing the ladies, but Ezra wished in some small way that he would be back at their room when he returned, just for a little conversation and companionship over a glass of whiskey. It was such a bewildering feeling, all this guilt and misery over something that really hadn't touched him personally. Yet at night when he closed his eyes he would see Irene's face, the silver dollars over her eyes and the blood crusted upon her neck. The way they'd all manhandled her body, violated even after death.

Ezra wandered back to the room above the pathetic excuse for a saloon. He went to bed, the miserable corn-husk mattress rustling and crackling underneath. It had been years since he'd been to bed this early, but Ezra was tired and out of sorts. Instead of sleeping he lay there, listening to the sounds outside the room, thinking of his options. Wondered if Buck would mind terribly if he stayed in Tombstone and left him to go back alone, assuming that it agreed with him. From everything he'd read about it, the town sounded like a lively enough place and the mine would keep bringing potential marks for some time to come. Quite unlike Four Corners, where far fewer new faces came along and the ones already there knew everything about him.

For two years now Ezra had speculated about why he'd chosen to stay there and tie his life to such a strange group of men, so disparate in their reasons for banding together. In the time he'd known them, Ezra had violated every personal code he lived by, and worse, had almost settled down. His mother had excoriated him for that, believing him to be soft and sentimental, and these days he couldn't really blame her for doing so. He had gone soft, gone honest, and that did nothing but leave you in a position to be hurt.

Eventually he fell asleep. When he woke in the morning it was to Buck's loud voice, laughing as he slapped Ezra awake. God only knew what kind of pockmarked, swaybacked whore he'd found to spend the night with. But then Ezra looked at the other bed and realized Buck had come back to the room in the night, only he'd never heard it. How strange to think of Buck even coming back at all when there was orgying to be had. They breakfasted quickly and got back onto the trail, hoping to make it to Tombstone by nightfall. Ezra was discovering that he actually enjoyed Buck's company, for he was different away from Chris or a larger group of people he could perform for. Of all the rest, Buck was the only one even half so talkative as himself. Ezra understood how wearing it was occasionally, being around such taciturn and laconic fellows as Vin and Chris and Nathan. There was pleasure to be had with someone who enjoyed words, discussion, even the odd tortured metaphor.

When they'd stopped to eat, Ezra asked Buck, "When did you come in last night? I never even heard you; you might as well have been a ghost for all I was aware."

"You were dead to the world, snoring away like a sawblade."

"I do not snore."

"Like hell you don't. All them sissy manners of yours won't hide the fact that you snore loud enough to wake the dead. _And_ make smacking noises."

Ezra took out his flask, had a sip, and handed it to Buck. "Be that as it may, I'm surprised you weren't out sampling the flesh all night. Not a testament to your reputation as a ladies' man. Although I admit the pickings in that backwater seemed especially slim."

"Ah, I don't know how much everyone really understands about my reputation. Getting roostered up and chasing the ladies ain't all I'm about."

"What are you about?" Ezra asked, packing up the rest of their gear and stowing his flask in his jacket. They both mounted up and began riding.

Over his shoulder Buck teased, as he broke away to the front, "Won't you just give everything to find out!"

 

That evening they reached Tombstone and Ezra instantly felt he was where he belonged. The bustle of the town alone, so many people to meet and make money off of, was enough to make his head spin. It had been far too long since he'd been in a decently sized town. Buck let out a whoop when they got into their hotel room: even though it was reasonable, it was still nicer than anything in and around Four Corners and a world away from the horrid barn they'd stayed in the previous night. This was his kind of place: near the mine, near the railroad spur, so many paths crossing in so many ways. Potential lined up and waiting for just the moment when it could rise to the occasion.

"A bath before dinner," Buck said enthusiastically, and Ezra wholeheartedly agreed. A copper tub was brought to their room -- now _that_ was the way to accommodate, Ezra believed -- and they took their turns. Ezra watched from the tub as Buck dried off, his lean frame so long, full of coiled energy and strength. It amused him to be surrounded by such a group of very tall men, all but one of them rangy and strong, tough like leather. Far more of the true western archetype being created even at this moment by men just like Buck and Chris and Vin, something he could never hope to be. The kinds of icons writers like Jock Steele built their stories around.

It was Ezra's plan to spend the night at the gaming tables alone, so he was surprised when Buck wanted to accompany him rather than simply find himself a lady and drink the night away. They had a brief dinner and then found themselves at the charmingly named Oriental, decorated with rich brocade draperies, plush tufted chairs, flocked wallpaper, the works. It reminded him more of Kansas City than anything he'd seen since coming to Arizona, and he was content for the first time in more weeks than he could remember. There was a certain satisfaction in having Buck at his side even though he was more accustomed to gambling alone. After a few poker and faro games Buck left the tables and stood at the bar, drinking whiskey, watching him. Ezra should have been happy to play on, but after a few more hours, glancing up occasionally to see Buck quietly keeping an eye on him, he was ready to go.

When he rose from the table to gather up his winnings Buck was no longer there. With his take, Ezra bought two bottles of liquor and went back to their hotel room. The street was even more lively at this late hour than it had been during the day. People filed out of the music hall ready for more entertainment after the show, and fellow gamblers -- many he recognized as displaced men like himself -- moved from house to house, always on the prowl for more money and fresh opponents.

Buck was sitting on the balcony of their room, which jutted out over the hotel's entryway. He grinned and waved a hand as if he'd been expecting him, and Ezra went upstairs. With a flourish he produced two bottles.

"Now, what have you got there?" Buck asked, taking one of the bottles.

"The finest Kentucky mash and the only true rye whiskey I've found since I came to this godforsaken territory. Tombstone is my kind of town, I must say." Ezra opened the rye bottle and took a long drink. "Now, don't you think this is peculiar?" he asked, passing it.

"What's that?" Buck smacked his lips after a long pull on the bottle. He thoughtfully wiped the rim with his kerchief and handed it to back to Ezra.

"The two most inveterate carousers and sinners in the committee, calling it an early night. Drinking quietly in their hotel."

"Well, if we drink enough, we won't be quiet, will we?"

"I suppose not." Just as he said that a man ran into the street from the premises next door, desperately trying to pull on his shirt even though he was already missing another important article of clothing. He was calling for help and seemed oblivious to the fact that he was trouserless. "I declare," Ezra said. They leaned over the railing to gawk; most of the people on the boardwalk and street stopped as well. "He appears to be in a state of dishabille. That may, however, be the least of his concerns, judging by that braying sound he's making."

"Must have been in quite a hurry."

At that moment a woman came out after him, a working girl judging from her outfit, and flat out shot the man in the chest. Both Ezra and Buck started, reaching for their guns as they jumped up, before realizing they were visitors here and it was not their responsibility. They glanced at each other, uncertain, but also bemused by the strange proceedings.

Buck shook his head and widened his eyes. "Hoo," was all he could muster.

"One can't help but wonder if this is the normal course of events. While it's a rather lively town, this may be more lively than a man in my emotional state can handle."

"That girl's a damn good shot," Buck said admiringly. But he wasn't smiling.

"I wonder what he did to deserve such an untimely and ignominious end."

"Probably ain't so untimely. Don't know many working girls who'd just flat out kill you like that 'less you deserved it." Ezra watched him, knowing how close to the bone that kind of comment cut. Buck rarely spoke of his past, and when he did, he was always aggrieved.

They sat watching as the marshal came and two men dragged the body away. "A bit harsh, despite the trappings of sophistication. I may have to reconsider my judgment."

"You seem disappointed."

"Well, it does make me question my earlier apprehension that this would be the ideal place for a person such as myself to settle. As much as I could ever settle."

"Now, I thought you'd settled in town. With us."

Ezra leaned back in his chair, staring out at the town below them. "Do you really think that'll last forever? For you? For any of us?"

"Well, no, but... I figured I'd last it out."

"Why?"

Buck seemed nonplussed by Ezra's insistence. "Well, I guess I ain't got nothing better to do." Then he laughed, and Ezra grinned back at him. "Why are you so eager to leave all of a sudden? You really that upset about this whole thing with Poplar?"

"It's symptomatic." Buck stared dully at him, so he shrugged. "It's partly the event itself, of seeing that poor lady with her throat cut and those silver dollars on her eyes. But mostly it's what's behind it." How did he explain the difference in the circumstances he grew up with, the life of comparative privilege he had, to someone like Buck or Vin? Even being raised as a thief and grifter was a kinder life than they had ever known. "I wasn't really raised to live this sort of life. Such roughness and struggle. And as you all know, upholding the law is not my strong suit. I'm reduced to gambling as my sole remunerative pastime, but mostly I miss it -- the game, the con." He knocked back some more of the bottle and wiped his mouth. "I don't always know who I am anymore. Seeing the things we see now, I don't know if this is the life I want to lead. I never fit in there, not really."

Buck had listened carefully while he spoke; now he took a long pull from the bottle. "So you came on this little holiday to find out if you were ready to go and if this was the place to go to?"

"Perhaps I did. Not to find out how I felt, but just confirming the need to go."

"I can understand that."

"You yourself have appeared out of sorts of late."

"Yeah, I have been a bit."

"Now that I've made my confession, isn't it your turn?" Although he wondered if Buck would say anything, considering how little any of the boys thought of him. He wasn't certain Buck was any more suited to trusting him than anyone else. Still, he enjoyed getting to know Buck, seeing this other side of him.

"Nothing quite so serious. Just been thinking about that strange fella in the traveling show. The one dressed up like a girl. Keep wondering why he'd do it."

Ezra felt a little twist in his gut, wondering just how much he should talk about this topic. He would never even consider discussing his own feelings about men or his different proclivities, but he was mildly drunk now and the night seemed close and friendly around them. When Buck was quiet like this, it made you want to talk to him. "Well, it's not _that_ peculiar. Perhaps he just felt that was more... comfortable for him."

"You don't think it was strange?" Buck laughed softly. "You might be the only one who wouldn't. It's mostly just... why go to so much trouble? If he was inclined that way, why hide it like that? He was awful fine-looking as he was. Able to catch a man's eye, if they were also inclined."

Caught in mid-drink, Ezra sputtered, whiskey burning up into the back of his nose. He wasn't totally certain he had heard that right. "I beg your pardon?" he asked between choking gasps.

Buck pulled his head back and to the side, smiling at Ezra with a taunting little grin. "You think I'm not the kind of fella to notice?"

"That would be an understatement."

"Why, you asked what was on my mind, Ezra. That's what's on my mind. I did find her... him, somewhat attractive. Been mulling that over. I ain't felt that way for some time."

Ezra choked even harder, the whiskey burning like fire all along the back of his throat, nose, into his eyes. He was certain that this must be Buck's way of setting him up, that Buck had deduced something and was now manipulating the conversation to a point where Ezra would reveal himself humiliatingly. Only he was just drunk enough that he couldn't puzzle out why Buck was so serious about it. Usually his teasing was so obvious and melodramatic.

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Just what I said, Ezra. You're not stupid. What's so hard to understand?"

"Just that you're telling me you've... you're... inclined, as you so aptly put it, towards a gentleman's charms given the appropriate situation?"

"It's a big old world out there, Ezra. You go around looking at only one half of it, why, you miss the rest, don't you? And it ain't what's on the surface that matters, is it? It's what's _under_ the skin that counts."

Ezra blinked at him. Buck's face was so calm and serious, but his eyes were alight with mischief. Buck _must_ be putting him on.

"Funny to see you speechless. That's the first time I can ever remember," Buck said quietly.

"You have indeed obliterated my considerable vocabulary."

"You're making too much out of it."

Taking a swig from the slowly diminishing contents of the rye bottle, Ezra eyed Buck sideways. "I'm dubious about that." He really must be more inebriated than he believed, because somehow this was all making a strange kind of sense. The way Buck had not even raised so much as an eyebrow when he'd found out that that girl had been a man; how easily he'd laughed about it, even flirted with him as the trick riders had driven away. No amount of teasing from JD had riled Buck, and Chris hadn't batted an eyelash at the story JD told after it was over.

And then there was the way Buck had watched him these past few days. "Is that why you came along with me? To experience the peculiar charms of a bigger town?"

"Nope." Buck polished off the last of the rye, and opened the mash. At this rate, the two of them would die of alcohol poisoning before they could say or do anything they'd regret, especially since they weren't used to drinking the very good stuff after that rotgut horror they got in Four Corners. "I've been watching you a while. In the past few weeks, especially, the way you seemed so down at the mouth. When I saw you were leaving, I thought, well hell, why not go along and get to know you better? Find out if what I'd been thinking about you, what I noticed, was true."

Ezra had nothing to say. He could feel heat burning on his cheeks and his pulse beating erratically.

"I was watching you tonight. The way you handled the cards, how you look when you play a hand. The way you act with people." He reached over, quite drunkenly, and took hold of Ezra's wrist, holding up his hand. "The way you move those cards, shuffle a deck. I kept thinking to myself, what would it feel like to have Ezra move his hands like that on me?"

Abruptly Ezra bolted from his chair and stumbled back into the room. It would almost be easier if Buck _was_ mocking him or setting him up for humiliation. Because to believe that Buck had seen him that way, had any kind of feelings for him... Ezra had no idea what to do with that. He had never had friendships; his time with the seven ran longer and his feelings deeper than for anyone in his life before. Any liaisons, whether male or female, had been strictly singular events. The idea of anyone actually finding him worthy, not just of friendship, but of wanting to know him and taking it beyond friendship, was staggering.

He heard Buck's footsteps, off-balance and shambling, behind him. Then Buck's large hand was upon his shoulder. With the heat flooding through him Ezra sobered quickly, not half so drunk as he imagined. He turned to look at Buck, who stood there in his white shirt with the long red kerchief draping in front of it, the dusty trousers, lips barely showing a smile underneath the mustache. So tall and easy-going. Handsome and intimidating, casual and tense at the same time. Ezra suddenly felt exposed and helpless, as though without his air of detachment and superiority he was naked to the world. But he moved closer, knowing that if Buck really was setting him up this would be that defining moment when he lost control, slapped his thigh and started howling at Ezra's stupidity. In the golden light of the room, weighed down with the sleepiness of the whiskey, it suddenly felt worth the risk. As if this was what he'd wanted for so long without knowing. Yet somehow, Buck had known.

Words and thoughts that had been tethered to his heart all this time floated away from him tonight, drifted away on the air like seeds from a dandelion. Buck had retrieved them, knowing they were important to keep. Ezra couldn't begin to understand why, but he believed it now.

Buck leaned forward and kissed Ezra, fingers gripping his shoulders hard, lips pressing insistently. Ezra let himself fall into it, the kiss confirming for him that this was no joke. The mustache was bristly against his face, Buck's mouth sweetly tinged with whiskey.

Dizzy, drunken, swirling with pleasure, the room spun out from underneath Ezra, walls pushing outward, the sky coming closer. Under his hands the heat of Buck's body seeped through the clothes as Ezra tried to tug them off. One bed catching them both as they fell, stupored with drink and lust, each peeling away the outside layer that kept them apart. Buck ran a hand along Ezra's stomach, sliding underneath the fine cotton and silk, pulling off the waistcoat, the shirt, the undershirt. He stopped kissing him just long enough to pull his head back and say, "My oh my. Look at you. Hiding all this under those fancy clothes." He licked a trail down Ezra's chest, stopping at the trousers.

Ezra rolled onto his side, pulling Buck up to face him. Those long legs hooked around his hips, grabbing him tight, and Ezra slid Buck's shirt off all the way, his hands tracing the arc and slip of muscle and sinew.

This was what he'd stayed for. He hadn't known, not until now, but the answers were all here underneath his hands. The things he couldn't see from the distance he'd kept. All embodied in Buck, someone he'd never have thought capable of bringing these feelings out from such a careful hiding place.

All of this -- these feelings, these sensations, were what came of friendship. Ezra had never known it before, never stayed in one place long enough or spent enough time with anyone to understand. It wasn't just desire or passion, it was regard and trust and _caring_ , sentiments so foreign to him that he almost couldn't name them.

He knew Buck now, as Buck had come to know him, silently and stealthily, without awareness of its happening.

When he opened his eyes it was to Buck's face smiling down at him, almost laughing at Ezra's impassioned sounds. Eyes glittering with that mischief so inherent to Buck alone. He traced his fingertips along Buck's cheekbones, ran his hand through the dark hair. "I feel so foolish, not knowing."

Buck kissed him for a long time, nipping his lower lip when he pulled away, which made Ezra tremble. "But you know now, and aren't you glad of that? It's a strange old world, Ezra."

Then Buck's hand snaked down, tightening around Ezra's cock, and he lost the train of thought. "It is indeed. I'm just pleased I finally slowed down long enough to see it."

"It's called making friends."

It was as if somehow Buck had reached inside his mind with those kisses. He felt the pressure building inside him as Buck's hand moved with such certainty and swiftness, up and down, strong yet gentle, over and over, and then he was lost, collapsing into climax. It took him some time before he regained his senses. Then he shifted his position, trailing his lips down the long, strong body to take Buck's cock in his mouth. The moans and gasps seemed to come from deep inside Buck, his movements in time with them.

It had been so long since he'd been with a man and needed the distinct knowledge of exactly how to give him pleasure. But it came back easily, a memory imprinted by desire. When Buck cried out above him, the bittersalty taste exploding in his mouth, it gave him such a feeling of power. Seeing Buck like this, eyes closed, a sheen of sweat across his skin, fingers clutching the sheets; confidence and rambunctiousness reduced by this simple pleasure.

"I declare, Ezra," Buck said when they lay face to face. "So many things you've been hiding behind those manners and that criminal nature."

"Yes, well, as you may have noticed, you've reformed me quite successfully." Buck's hand traveled across his back, the curve of shoulder, curling around his biceps.

"I want to ask if that means you've reformed enough to stay, but I ain't sure I want to know the answer. You came here to this town to stick around."

"I did." He was afraid to ask if Buck would want him to come back to Four Corners, though. If what had just happened was solely because Buck thought there wouldn't be consequences for it later, then it would be best not to know. Once you'd finally made a connection to someone like this, it was hard to imagine your life without them.

Buck gazed at him with that twinkling look, his mouth pursing, twisting. Trying, most likely, not to tease Ezra, knowing it would break the mood they'd created.

Finally Ezra decided to take the risk, do the very thing he'd been so afraid of since hooking up with these six men. He leaned over Buck. "I couldn't stay here now. Not if you... if you preferred I return."

There was a way Buck had of looking sometimes, a softness that was incongruous with his nature. Almost bashful. Coupled with the tenderness in his voice, it would take others off guard, and Buck had that now as he gazed back at Ezra, gripping his arm tightly. "Can't think of a thing I'd want more."

Ezra fell back beside him on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, knowing that this big old world of Buck's had changed drastically for both of them. And knowing he was content, for possibly the first time he could remember, within it.

 

The waking wasn't so difficult. It was the actual getting out of the bed that was the hard part. Through the night they had made love and then dozed, sated. They could stay a few more days, he knew that, but they both felt an unspoken pull to return home.

He was alternately amused and bemused by Buck. All this time Ezra had thought he'd known who Buck was. Now that he had a glimpse underneath the surface, he'd discovered someone new, dazzling and complete. Were these feelings caused by Buck's own attentions to him? Was he reacting purely as a response to attention he'd never been shown before? These new facets of Buck were alluring and compelling but Ezra didn't know for certain how true they were -- or how real his own emotions were, once the heady mystique of sex vanished.

Buck was lively and boisterous one time, then quiet and subdued, tender and gentle, the next. All the characteristics meshing and coming to life under Ezra's gaze, his hands, his body. As if by some alchemic trick such disparate elements created someone nobody else had seen before -- a man only Ezra would be allowed to see.

They decided to go back, cons and gambling and nightlife the furthest things from Ezra's mind. Only this time they were taking it slowly rather than the fast ride they'd made on the way here. Buck teased him about being willing to sleep on the trail instead of in hotel rooms, but grew serious when Ezra only responded with, "I'd prefer to stay away from prying eyes in the time we have left."

As they readied their horses, Buck fixed him with that look -- head down, peering seriously from under his hat, mouth set in a line. "I been wondering if you're not happy with all this. You've been... quieter than before. Different."

Ezra gave a final tug on the girth and swung up into the saddle, Buck following along on his big gray. "I'm happy. For the first time I'm able to remember, I'm happy. Maybe I never knew before, but I must be quieter when I'm content." He smiled at Buck, hoping that his appreciation was clear.

"My pleasure." Buck turned away for a moment, eyes travelling the length of the town as he took in one last look around. It could be a long time before he got back this way again, before either of them might have a reason to leave. "Was it just last night that makes you happy?"

Ezra was amused by his sudden lack of confidence. "Not at all, Mr. Willoughby." Buck struggled not to grin. Ezra was overcome by a seriousness he didn't usually feel, especially not around Buck. "I never stayed around anyone long enough to know them. How I felt about them. Being a grifter... well, the word does sound remarkably like drifter. To be good at the con, you can't afford to stay anywhere or know anyone. Trust isn't a word in your vocabulary or an emotion in your heart, not if you wish to succeed."

He glanced away, overcome for a moment. "I could never allow myself the chance to look twice at anyone, and any liaisons were by necessity brief and anonymous. Then I stayed in Four Corners and became acquainted with all of you, and found myself being known. It never occurred to me that it could lead to something more... serious."

"Neither of us was exactly raised to know how to really care for others. To know how to be around other folks proper. Took me a long time to learn it. You only just started."

"Mother has taken every opportunity to mock me since my sojourn here began. She believes I've gone soft and lost my edge. It doesn't occur to her that perhaps that's what I wanted."

"Oh, I can just imagine the kind of life she taught you. Be hard to look at the world any different, if you'd been raised to see it through her eyes."

"She was somewhat encumbered by the societal restrictions for a lady, so she often had to marry to get her money. Whereas for me, even as a boy, it was always easier to get what I wanted. And it didn't help that she was singularly undiscriminating in her choice of spouses. It all taught me that it was best to be alone. Safest." He looked down at his hands, wincing at how much he gave away of himself these days. "This is all so different from what I've been led to expect in life."

They didn't speak again for hours, not until they stopped to eat under an ancient tree that provided scant shade. The ground sloped down to a puny watering hole. Their horses stood at the edge to drink and rest, while they sat on the rise amid the sparse brown grasses that waved in the light breeze. The mid-day sun beat down on them so they were both drenched in sweat. Buck asked, "You don't think you deserve it, do you? Friendship, affection."

So he'd been thinking of their conversation all this time on the trail. "You've seen through me, haven't you? Am I that transparent?"

"Only if someone cares to look."

"Why _did_ you, Buck? Why did you care to look?" Ezra was embarrassed by how strained his voice was, but this was such new territory for him that it pushed at the edges of his restraint.

Buck wiped his fingers on his trouser legs, took off his hat, and turned, placing his palm flat against Ezra's chest. He pushed him down and leaned over. "You and me, we're a lot more alike to each other than anyone else there. They think we're just what we seem on the outside. Ol' Chris, he wears his heart on his sleeve and he's bleeding all over the landscape so everyone can see. Nathan, he's had such heartbreak and we know all about it. They think we're like that too -- that it's out in the open. But I always felt like... like you were just like me. And that I knew you, what you really were inside. The things other folks couldn't see."

"I never would have known. You, I mean. I didn't understand before how to do that, to know someone."

"Then I guess it's a good thing I'm the brains of this outfit." He grinned and kissed Ezra, then took his hands and looked at them. "How did you ever get these hands of yours so soft? They're like a baby's bottom." Ezra examined Buck, the brightness of his eyes and the hook of his nose, that bushy mustache and the smile which broke behind it, all of it spellbinding.

"It's one of the first things you learn about being a good pickpocket: smooth, soft hands. Can't have rough skin catching against anything. To be a good card sharp, you must have supple skin. All the better to cheat you with." Buck's little smirk made him laugh. "Lanolin -- it travels with me everywhere I go. Only two things I won't do without, and the other is the flask."

"Well, I like the effect, even if you do it for less than honest reasons." Buck shivered as Ezra began using those supple hands on him, then pulled at Ezra's clothes.

"You and them fancy good-for-nothing citified frocks!" Buck snarled when he couldn't get the waistcoat off fast enough.

"Frock?" Ezra challenged, and pulled Buck's hand away. "I'll have you know that--"

"Don't you ever close that goldarned yap of yours? Just shut up and kiss me."

"I hardly think you have the right to cast aspersions on me in matters of language. You talk so much and use such strained metaphors, I'm at a loss for comparisons."

Buck silenced him by sliding his hand down quickly under Ezra's trousers, grabbing his cock and stroking it. They kissed languidly, in contrast to the fumblings of their hands.

Ezra smacked at Buck's hands and started on his own clothes."How you ever got such a reputation with the ladies is beyond me, if this sort of reproachable and clumsy behavior is your idea of lovemaking."

After sliding his pants down, Buck followed suit, and moved slowly against Ezra, creating a delicious friction that made his whole body thrum with pleasure. "Saying you don't want it now?" He was hovering on the brink of climax, muscles twitching everywhere, skin enflamed.

"Not at all, Mr. Willoughby, not at all. I have a weakness for reprobates." Words came out in short, sharp gasps. Buck traced his tongue along Ezra's ear and sent him crashing into that exquisite light, warm fluid spilling out across their bellies, followed by Buck's own release, mingled with his.

What a repulsive mess they would be, Ezra thought laughingly, all covered in semen and sweat and dust and chaff. He wished they could stay that way forever.

 

They traveled like that for a few more days, stopping far more often and longer than they should. On the morning of their last day, Ezra woke next to Buck, stiff and sore from all the time he'd spent on the ground.

Buck was watching him, gravely serious, from the fire, waiting for the coffee to boil. Ezra stretched but didn't rise. As if to do so was to admit it was all over and he was back to the harsh, cruel, and isolated existence he'd left all these days ago. God, it seemed like a world away now. When the coffee was ready, he brought Ezra a cup and sat down next to him.

"You worried about going back?"

"No, why?"

"You're all serious-like. You were frowning before you even woke up."

That was an unfair tactical advantage, watching someone while they slept. All Ezra could do was turn away, sipping the coffee, unable to look at Buck's eager face.

"I think I know what's eating you. You're thinking this was all some flight of fancy and once we get back, it won't have meant nothing at all."

"You have an awfully inflated opinion of yourself, has anyone ever told you that?" But there was no malice in his voice; Ezra couldn't really muster such a feeling for Buck, not anymore.

All that did was make him laugh, that smug little laugh Ezra had heard a thousand times directed at JD or anyone else who amused Buck in their moments of ridiculousness. Ezra didn't like feeling ridiculous right now.

But then Buck put his hand flat against Ezra's shoulder and pushed him down to the ground, leaning above, staring at him.

"It ain't likely."

Not likely what? Ezra wondered, but didn't say it aloud. His face must have betrayed him, though, because Buck added, "That anyone's going to forget about such a time. Them pretty pale green eyes of yours. Those hands and how they feel against the skin. A man don't forget about the world changing in front of him."

Buck was such a romantic. He always made things sound so much more important than they could ever really be.

"Life will go on, though, Buck. People have expectations and we must meet them."

"To hell with that." Buck kissed him hard, as if he could overpower all those doubts by just pressing his lips to Ezra's.

"Indeed. To hell with it." Ezra pulled the suspenders down, unbuttoned Buck's shirt and then worked on the trousers. If this would be the last time, he wanted it to count. He rummaged in his bag, brought out that lanolin and handed it to Buck, who grinned lasciviously. Such a torrent of emotions flooded through his heart and mind, Ezra didn't know what to think, only that he was full of affection, desire, heat, fear. Feelings crashed like the rapids of a river, churning through him as he let Buck turn him over, sliding his hard cock inside, moving slowly and tenderly, whispering along his neck, shoulders, back with kisses. He spoke words that Ezra couldn't even understand. The bristle of the mustache and beard rubbed against his neck, an exquisite irritation. Ezra slid his hands under Buck's, twining their fingers together and closing his eyes, riding down that river, hurling himself forward to such pleasure. When he heard Buck gasp above him he knew he was safe, complete. Happy and melancholy, held between an ending and a beginning.

 

Chris, Vin, and JD were sitting on the porch in front of the jail staring lazily at a checkerboard when they arrived. Chris turned his head up to look at them, a smirk on his mouth and mischief in his eyes. As they dismounted he said snidely to Buck, "Nice of you to tell me you were planning a trip."

Buck winked at Ezra. "See, I told you he'd be over it by now." He turned his attention to Chris. "Well, a body's got to get away and see the rest of the world now, don't he, if he's going to know whether he's in the right place?"

"That what you were doing?" JD asked sarcastically. "Thought you were just whoring around." Everyone turned to glare at JD.

Buck smiled and patronizingly patted JD's shoulder. "You just sit there quiet-like, why don't you?"

Ezra dusted off his jacket and slapped his hat a few times against his hand. "It appears we haven't even been missed, Mr. Willoughby. The boys are obviously quite hard at work."

Chris turned to Vin, raising his eyebrows.

"Ah, it's a _private_ joke, Chris. You just wouldn't understand," Buck said. Chris stared up at him, waiting for the explanation, smiling wryly. Buck, however, played it silent.

Vin, as usual, watched them all silently. As Ezra put his hat back on Vin leaned towards him and asked softly, "You find what you were looking for? You must have, since you came back."

Ezra stared at him, struck once again by Vin's perspicacity. He often forgot just how carefully Vin watched others. And how much he would understand wanting to leave a place that had become too familiar and too known.

"I believe I did."

Vin just smiled and nodded.

It hit Ezra then, more profoundly than any of the insights and revelations he'd experienced the past week: these people did know him. They paid more attention to his character than he'd ever given them credit for. Up until now he'd assumed he was the least appreciated, the least known member of this strange band. The one they could do without and not even know they were doing without. But they did see him, and what they saw didn't make them turn away.

It was as Buck had said: what mattered was under the skin, because friends looked deeper.

"I need a drink," Buck proclaimed. "And if I'm not mistaken, there's some fresh faces in that saloon!"

He'd known it was going to happen, yet Ezra felt a twinge of regret when he heard that. Still, this was who Buck was, he'd always known. JD rose from his chair and he and Buck started for the saloon.

To no one in particular, Ezra just said, "I'll take the horses to the stable, why don't I?" He unlooped the reins and walked the horses to the livery, aware of Chris and Vin giving each other a look behind his back. But he didn't care enough now to give them the satisfaction of showing his feelings.

He was taking the saddlebags off when he saw Buck standing to his side. He'd come in so silently Ezra hadn't even heard him, and he leaned against a post, one leg crossed over in front of the other. He took off his hat. "Didn't mean for you to do all the work."

"Not a concern. I'm happy to do it."

Buck's dark eyes glimmered in the low light. "Just wanted to make sure I'd see you later."

"Of course. I'm sure we'll see each other in the saloon, if you're not encumbered by one of those fresh faces." Ezra would no more ask him to stop chasing after the other half of that big old world than he would expect Buck to ask him to give up gambling.

Buck stood up straight, laughed low in his chest and turned away, putting his hat back on. "Oh, I'm talking about afterwards, and you know it. Don't you start underestimating me -- or yourself." Then he touched his hat, and as he walked past, slid his fingertips along Ezra's palm. So subtly and swiftly no one would have noticed even if they'd been standing right there. Ezra watched Buck walk out the wide doors, aware, for the first time perhaps, of just how much the future could hold for him if he let it. If he looked past the surface to find the treasures hidden underneath.

 

End

**Author's Note:**

> For Killa, with deepest gratitude.


End file.
